


A Dry Spell

by alley_oops, jennandanica



Series: A Breath of Home [1]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, True Blood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-13
Updated: 2011-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-22 14:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_oops/pseuds/alley_oops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two really hot guys meet at the 2011 San Diego Comic-Con and sparks fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dry Spell

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone familiar with the RPG Citadel, this is not backstory for our pups in the game. In Citadel, Sam is played as the actor and Ryan is played AU as a songwriter. And then a little birdie told us our boys were going to be at SDCC at the same time in real life and we couldn't pass up the opportunity to see what would happen in another world, with the boys both as their actor selves.

Sam's rarely starstruck. Actors tend to be people like everyone else and most of them are surprisingly _boring_ people once you get to know them. But right now, in the green room for the San Diego Comic Con, Sam's busy watching 'Jason Stackhouse' run a hand through his hair and blush as someone says something to him about how fucking hot he is and all Sam can think of is how fucking much he agrees. So he waits until the person's moved on and until Ryan's on his own before moving in with a conspiratorial smile. "You ever get sick of being asked about your abs?"

The accent is a breath of home, and Ryan looks up with a smile. His eyes widen slightly when he sees just who is talking to him, and he's a few seconds behind in answering. "Uh. Yeah," he says with a laugh. "Or, 'how much do you work out for your role?' I don't."

Sam grins. "Neither do I," he says, holding out his hand. "Sam Worthington."

"Good to meet you. Ryan Kwanten." Ryan shakes his hand, trying to ignore the warmth of Sam's grip, the obvious strength radiating off the man. "I caught your panel earlier today. That's so cool that you started your own comic book company."

"Well, Radical Publishing was already around, we just made an imprint deal with them," Sam says, not wanting to take complete credit. "But yeah, I'm really excited," he lets on. "Damaged is... it's brilliant." He grins at Ryan. "When's your panel?" he asks.

"I had one this evening. And then I've got another one tomorrow," Ryan answers, feeling a flush of pride. Then he stuffs his hands in his pockets, feeling heat rise on his cheeks. Sam is a superstar, way beyond Ryan's caliber. "Um. You sticking around for the rest of the con?"

"I wasn't planning on it but I might now. What's tomorrow's?" Sam asks, sorry he missed Ryan's earlier panel.

"Oh, it's for this movie I did called Knights of Badassdom," Ryan answers, his excitement getting the better of him once more. "They're describing it as Dungeons and Dragons meets Shaun of the Dead. It was a ton of fun to shoot."

"I read about that," Sam says, enthused. Loving the look on Ryan's face. It's great to meet someone in Hollywood - or even from - who doesn't downplay what they're doing. "Something about a group of LARPers having to fight some real demon one of them conjures up?"

"Yeah, that's it," Ryan says, thrilled to his bones that Sam's heard of the project. "We're debuting the trailer tomorrow, and... Sorry," he says, growing self-conscious again. "I guess I'm just a real geek at heart." He grins and shrugs apologetically.

"Yeah, well, that makes two of us," Sam says, eyes sparkling. "And I'll definitely come see your panel tomorrow." He glances at his watch. "Are you done for today? I was gonna go back to the hotel and grab a pint. Or two." His grin widens.

"Yeah, sounds good." Fuck, Sam is gorgeous, even more so up close, and his smile is infectious. _Down, boy,_ Ryan warns himself. "Let me just... umm..." he pats his pockets with a distracted expression. "Yeah, ready. Are you staying on the beach? I got some amazing surfing in this morning."

"Yeah. They've got me in that place down by the Gaslamp Quarter. Solomar," Sam says, "but I haven't managed to get out yet. Where are you?"

"Hey, I'm at the same place," Ryan says, pushing open one of the exits to the back of the building. "Seventh floor."

Sam gives him a look. "I'm on eight."

"Yeah?" Ryan looks at him sidelong. "Was that you making all that fucking noise last night? If I'd known..." Hell, if he'd known, then he probably would have jacked off thinking about it. Not that Sam needs to know that.

"Not this time," Sam says with a laugh. "This time I swear I'm completely innocent."

"Dry spell?" Ryan teases, waving over one of the waiting cabs. "I'm having one of those myself. Too much time at work, you know?" He brushes against Sam as he reaches to open the car door, and jerks back like he's been burned. He feels stupid as soon as he does it. But Sam just smells so fucking good.

Sam notices the sudden movement but knows better than to call attention to it. He slides across the back seat and grins at Ryan when he gets in, after giving the driver their destination. "You mean to tell me you're not like Jason? Pussy at every turn?"

"No, I'm nothing like Jason," Ryan answers, ducking his head on a smile. "It's a common misconception. I don't think even Alex gets that much tail." He looks at Sam, watching the way streetlights play over his profile. "You watch my show? I'll be insufferable the rest of the night, now."

"Yeah, I do. When I can," Sam says, turning his head to catch Ryan watching him. A spark of hope ignited. "I missed most of the third season but my agent just sent me the DVDs so I'm slowly catching up."

"The third season was kind of an anomaly. I kept my clothes on the whole time," Ryan jokes.

"Yeah? I heard there was a really tight cop uniform involved," Sam says, eyes sparkling again. The comment safe enough. Just barely but still.

"It got tighter..." Ryan shakes his head. "This season, I mean. I think wardrobe's got it in for me." He eyes Sam, a sly grin playing at his lips. "Of course, I've never had to run around in a skirt like certain people."

"It's a kilt, not a skirt," Sam says, playfully rolling his eyes. "And they made me wear shorts under it for the fight scenes."

"Shame." Ryan looks out the window at the passing ocean. Then he turns back, curious. "Wait -- _only_ for the fight scenes?"

Sam grins. "They didn't care what I was wearing when there wasn't a chance of me flashing the cameras."

He definitely has Ryan's full attention now. "Sooo...?" he prompts. "Did it get windy under there?" He hopes he doesn't sound _too_ interested. Even though he's having a hell of a fun time imagining it.

"It felt great," Sam says bluntly. Eyes flickering to Ryan's mouth, wondering what it would be like to kiss him. "I like to go commando anyway. It was the shorts that were a pain in the ass."

 _Christ._ Ryan barely stifles a groan as he turns away to stare out his window again. Fuck, he needs to get his shit together. The last thing he needs is for Sam Worthington to be telling people, 'There's something suspect about that Kwanten bloke...' There are enough gay rumors swirling about him already.

The taxi pulls up in front of their hotel and Sam says, "I've got it," handing over a couple of bills and gesturing Ryan out of the car. "What's your poison?" he asks with an easy grin as they enter the lobby and head straight for the bar, his eyes flickering this time to Ryan's ass when the man moves in front of him. Christ.

"Anything decent on draft," Ryan answers, even as he wonders if he should be aiming for something stronger. No, probably not a good idea -- he tends to get awfully kissy when he's loaded. Pair that with the knife-sharp attraction he's already feeling towards Sam, and... _Danger, Will Robinson!_ He takes a seat on a stool and nods to get the bartender's attention.

"What's on tap?" Sam asks when the guy comes over, listening to him rattle off a long list including the usual suspects and a few micro-brews. "The last one," he says, not sure he can remember the rest of them. "I'll have a pint. Have you eaten?" he asks Ryan.

"Yeah, I always go crazy after live interviews, clear out half the catering table. Nerves," Ryan explains, and orders a pint for himself. "It's like I can never get used to it, you know? I get up in front of an audience and I just start sweating."

"Really? You don't seem like someone who gets nervous," Sam says, reaching for a handful of peanuts from the bowl the bartender puts out for them. "You come across as very confident, self-assured..."

Ryan sneaks a glance at Sam, warming beneath his praise. "Thanks," he says softly. Then his smile widens. "You certainly work the crowd like a pro," he says. "Charming their pants off." So to speak.

 _What about yours?_ "Thanks," Sam says with a smile, nodding at the bartender as he delivers their drinks. "I just remind myself most of them are more nervous than we are. For fans at least, half of what we say goes in one ear and right out the other."

"I guess. I hadn't really thought about it that way," Ryan muses. He sips at his beer, then licks a fleck of foam from his top lip. "There's just this lingering paranoid fear that I'm not only speaking to the thousands of people packed into the room, but to all their smartphones, which will then be uploaded to Youtube and viewed more than a million times, and..." The familiar panic starts to flare. He takes a deep breath. "And now _I_ don't even remember what I said anymore, and what if it was really fucking stupid, and..." Ryan covers his face with his hand. And with his other hand he pulls his pint closer. Because clearly he's going to need it.

"Yeah, except that stupid's not the end of the world," Sam points out, putting a hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Mean, nasty, misogynistic - that's the shit that lives on, and I don't picture you having a problem with any of that."

"Not as of yet." Ryan throws Sam a crooked smile. The simple touch is comforting, as well as more arousing than it should be simply because it sends Ryan's mind hurtling along a plea of _Touch me more_. He moves the tiniest bit closer, on the pretext of shifting on his bar stool. "Let's talk about something else."

"Okay." Sam smiles, hoping like hell he's not misreading the vibe he's getting from Ryan. "Where's home these days?"

"Los Angeles. I've been out there about eight years now," Ryan says, tracing a fingertip through the condensation on his beer glass before knocking back a swallow. "You?"

"I'm still back and forth," Sam says, unable to stop smiling at Ryan. "Crashing on my mates’ couches mostly, although I probably should buy myself a place at this point."

"I don't know. Are you sure you can afford it?" Ryan teases. God, Sam's smile is blinding, and Ryan is trying hard to ignore the excitement starting to twist him up tight.

Sam laughs. "I suck with money," he says. "I just keep sticking it in the bank. All my mates are harassing me about buying a car or new clothes, or a place, and I just -- what the hell do I need with a car in LA and I like my clothes and what if suddenly no one wants me and I'm back to being a brickie."

"I think you'll be okay," Ryan murmurs, but his mind is now completely stuck on the image of Sam as a bricklayer. Manual labor, half-naked out in the sun... _Jesus, Kwanten._ He slams back the last of his beer and signals to the bartender for another one. "I haven't really invested in anything major yet," he says. "I think I spend the most money just flying back and forth to Aus."

"Your family still there?" Sam asks, gesturing for another as well even though he's not entirely done the first.

"Yeah. My parents and two brothers. I usually get back at least three times a year," Ryan answers. "When I'm on shooting hiatus. What about you? Do you get back at all? I mean, you sound really busy with work."

"I got back at Christmas this year for a couple of days but at this point, I've shot five movies back-to-back with no more than two weeks break in total."

"Jesus." Ryan turns on his stool to face Sam, searching those intense blue eyes. "When do you relax? Unload stress?"

"Not very often," Sam says truthfully. Taking his chances when he adds, softly, his tone hinting at so much more, "But believe me, I have my ways."

 _Fuck_. Ryan's mouth goes dry, and a pulse of blood throbs in his cock. "I'm sure," he whispers, and he's probably staring too much, holding that risky eye contact too long, but fuck if he can help it.

You don't become an actor without learning how to read people. But you also don't become an actor without knowing how to fool everyone. Sam's just hoping that tonight his ability to do the first is trumping Ryan's ability to do the second. "Want to take our drinks upstairs?"

The question settles over Ryan like a lead blanket, and it takes a few seconds for the full meaning - subtext and all - to completely sink in. Fuck, he hopes he's not fucking this up. "Yeah," he breathes, nodding. Not even taking his eyes off Sam as he picks up his drink and gets to his feet. He'd pay for their drinks, really he would, he just doesn't have the brainpower left.

Sam drains his first glass, picks up his second, and drops a few bills on the bar with a nod to the bartender. "Keep the change," he tells him, making his way back out into the lobby with Ryan beside him. "What time's your panel tomorrow?"

"Eleven. Hall B." Ryan pushes the button for the lift, then stuffs his free hand into his pocket, his other wrapped tight around his beer. His second beer, which he has barely touched -- yeah, he can't blame this lapse of sanity on the alcohol. But he's nearly vibrating with hope, all twined up with want. "Maybe I'll sleep in." Not that he ever does.

"What time do you usually get up?" Sam asks, counting them lucky that no one else gets on the lift when it opens.

"Usually? A little before dawn," Ryan answers. "I hate to sleep," he offers in explanation, "and I like being up for the sunrise." He watches Sam push the button for the eighth floor, knots tightening in his gut.

"Before dawn?" Sam shakes his head, but he's grinning. "I think I've still got my pillow over my head at that point. Does that mean you go to bed early or are you one of those who burns the candle at both ends?"

"Um. Both ends," Ryan says with a soft laugh, looking up to watch the panel flash floor numbers one by one. He sips at his beer. "I can go all night."

"That's good to know," Sam says, eyes sparkling with mirth as he takes a swallow of his beer.

Jesus Christ. No one mortifies Ryan like Ryan himself. He drags a hand through his hair and slumps against the wall, waiting for the lift doors to slide open.

Sam chuckles. "I get the feeling you're way too fucking hard on yourself," he says with a smile, gesturing for Ryan to follow as the lift dings and the doors open.

"Think so?" Ryan eyes Sam's ass as he follows him down the hall. And he wonders just what the fuck he's getting into.

"Maybe," Sam says with a smile, stopping in front of his room and sliding his keycard into the slot. "I'm just going on what you've told me so far and your body language." He pushes the door open and gestures for Ryan to go on in.

"You're good with body language?" Stepping inside, Ryan looks around the hotel room and sets his glass down on the coffee table. Then he turns back and watches Sam steadily. His heart is fucking racing, and yet he can barely breathe with the knowledge of what he's about to do. One eye on the door - just in case he's wrong wrong wrong - he risks everything, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it from his shoulders. "What's mine saying to you right now?"

 _Fuck._ "That I was right about it all along," Sam says softly, closing the distance between them, his hand going to Ryan's nape and pulling him in for a hard, hungry kiss.

In an instant the fear melts from Ryan's body, transforming into a different kind of tension entirely. He clutches at Sam, fingers digging into his shoulders, before he slides his hands down to cup Sam's ass and drag him in tight against him. He returns the kiss with equal hunger, demanding more with every swipe of his tongue, every insistent bite at Sam's luscious mouth.

It's like he's being devoured and Sam doesn't mind one bit. He kisses and bites back, grinding roughly against Ryan, his cock already _so_ fucking hard. Moving them towards the bedroom but he's not sure they'll make it and they don't, the desk right fucking there. His hands push between them, pulling at Ryan's jeans, getting them open, shoved down his hips...

Ryan stumbles just a little as Sam yanks his boxers down to his knees. His fingers get all tangled up trying to unbuckle Sam's belt because he's just too fucking busy licking the man's neck. And somewhere in the back of his mind a little warning voice is piping up and telling him to start praying that Sam has lube.

"Let me take care of that," Sam says with a low groan as Ryan's mouth moves over his skin, taking over, his belt yanked open and the button on his jeans thumbed free. "Turn around."

"Ohh, god." Ryan groans at the order and nearly goes limp with desire. He kicks his jeans down to his ankles and bends over the desk, spreading his thighs as wide as he's able. He's nervous, and scared, and so fucking turned on that he's damn near shivering.

Sam steps away to drop his jeans and grab a condom and lube from his bag but then he's right back, the fronts of his thighs pressed against the backs of Ryan's as he tears open the condom packet and unrolls the latex over his cock.

Shutting his eyes, Ryan listens. And he tries like hell to calm down, focusing on his breathing. He can't fucking believe this is happening. _Sam Worthington_. This is pretty much a wet dream come true, and he's totally shameless as he angles his hips back.

"When was the last time you were fucked?" Sam asks, slicking up his fingers, the way Ryan moves making it difficult to concentrate, take the care he needs to.

"Fuck," Ryan mutters. He flexes his fingers against the smooth surface of the desk, trying not to burst into flames. Spontaneous combustion ignited by killer suspense. "Like... three months."

 _Seriously?_ Ryan's hands-down the hottest guy Sam's ever seen, with the best body, and it's been three months? Wisely, he keeps his mouth shut though, pressing two fingers between Ryan's cheeks and rubbing them over his hole.

"Oh Jesus." Ryan whimpers under his breath, unable to keep the vulnerable sound from passing his lips. But god Sam's fingers feel so good, and he presses back into the touch. Wanting more.

Sam slides his free hand over Ryan's back, over that smooth golden skin, pushing those two slicked fingers inside him and groaning at the soft tight heat of the man's body.

The whimper is louder this time. It almost sounds like a protest, except for the way Ryan jerks back at the penetration, trying to take more before Sam even gives it. It feels good. But it's just a taste, and he wants everything.

"You want more, do you?" Sam murmurs, quickly obliging with a third finger, all three twisting into Ryan's hole.

"Fuck, yeah," Ryan mutters. It was probably a rhetorical question, but there's no harm in clarifying things between strangers, right? "I want it all," he says, starting to fuck himself on Sam's fingers. Trying to get it _just right_.

Fuck. The way Ryan's moves on Sam's fingers... well, it makes Sam ache. Knowing he's going to move like that when he gets his cock inside him. But he's a patient man. Sometimes. And that's why he twists those fingers again, fanning them out and stretching Ryan open before curling them together to stroke over that sensitive bundle of nerves.

Ryan cries out, remembering where they are just a second too late. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and bites hard, trying to keep any more sounds in. _Fuck_ that's good, and he automatically picks up the pace of his hips.

Sam fucks those fingers in and out of Ryan's hole a few more times before abruptly pulling them out.

Fisting his hands against the desk, Ryan swallows frustration. He's string-taut with anticipation and suspense, breathing shallowly, waiting...

Sam lines up, rubbing the head over that eager hole before pushing in, the first thrust sinking the head and the second, his entire shaft, hips shoving his cock deep.

Ryan fucking shouts this time, his whole body seizing up tight. Burning pain slices through him and it takes two endless seconds, three, before he can force himself to begin to relax, muscles slowly unwinding as he clutches around Sam's cock and pushes back against him.

"You said you wanted more," Sam reminds him, smiling, thrusting into Ryan in long steady strokes now that the tension has eased.

"Unhh... uh-huh." Ryan swallows hard and tries to get a grasp on his wits. He braces against the desk, dizzy with the pleasure that's lighting him up. Gradually he comes back to himself enough to start moving with Sam, rocking with him.

"Oh, god," Sam groans, fucking Ryan even harder, loving that the other man moves with him. "You're so fucking tight." It feels incredible. So fucking good. And he can already tell he's not going to last long.

 _Three months_ , Ryan thinks. Way too damn long. His breath huffs out, his shoulders rigid and he gives as good as he's getting. Sam's cock is fucking owning him, and it's awesome, every harsh thrust driving him closer to the edge. He drops his hand down to close around his prick, beginning to stroke himself off.

"Oh, fuck, I'm going to come," Sam warns after another dozen thrusts, every last bit of willpower, every bit of control he has, defeated by the sinful clench of Ryan's body.

In answer Ryan can only groan. He jerks himself faster, clamping his muscles around Sam's cock. And he comes with a shout, spraying hot and hard onto the desk.

In an instant, Sam follows Ryan over, fingers digging into his hips as he comes, hard, so fucking hard it hurts.

 _Oh shit_. Ryan can feel the incriminating fingertip bruises forming already. Good thing he won't be in front of a camera for a few weeks. And fuck it, he doesn't really care -- right now he's all wrapped up in the feeling of Sam covering him, heavy and sated.

"That was incredible," Sam breathes against the back of Ryan's neck, cock still pulsing inside him. He lets go of the other man's hips and wraps his arms around him, hugging him in close.

That's unexpected. Ryan tentatively hugs Sam back, resting his head against Sam's shoulder and losing himself in the moment of rare closeness. "Yeah," he breathes, agreeing totally. "You're really fucking good."

"So are you," Sam murmurs, smiling. "Stay the night with me?"

"Seriously?" Ryan twists his neck to get a look at Sam's face, surprised. His instinct is to decline, but right now he can't think of a single good reason why. "Okay." He nods. "I just need to, um. Let me clean that up." He disentangles from Sam, wincing a little as the man's cock leaves his body, then heads for the bathroom to fetch a cloth for the desk.

While Ryan's gone, Sam gets rid of the condom, wrapping it in a few tissues and shoving it down under the rest of the garbage.

Kicking his jeans and shorts off the rest of the way, Ryan wipes his come off the desk with a damp washcloth, figuring some things are better not left for Housekeeping to find. Straightening up he turns to face Sam, and he lets his eyes roam openly over the man's body now. "You're still dressed," he points out, grinning faintly. "Want some help with that?"

"Be my guest," Sam says, grinning back and holding his arms out.

Slowly Ryan drags Sam's shirt up and over his head, letting his knuckles skim along warm skin. He smooths his hands back down, savoring the muscle definition beneath his fingertips. Sam's jeans are still opened and loose, and Ryan takes advantage of the opportunity to slide his hands beneath the denim and cup Sam's ass. "You're so gorgeous," he whispers, tugging the jeans down.

Sam's grin widens. "Right back at you," he says, leaning in to kiss Ryan, his mouth hard and hungry still. "Would it be really creepy and stalkerish if I admitted you've starred in my fantasies more than a few times?"

"Seriously?" Surprised, Ryan pulls back and searches Sam's eyes for any indication that the man is just teasing him.

Sam crosses his heart. "I told you I'd been watching _True Blood_ ," he says. "I also caught _Red Hill_."

"You saw that?" Excitement flares on Ryan's face; he's just so damn proud of that film. But... _focus!_ He slides his hands over Sam's hips, making soft circles on his skin. The idea of being Sam's mental sex toy is... pretty fucking thrilling. "Tell me about one of your fantasies."

"You sure?" Sam asks, loving the expressions that play across Ryan's face. "They're actually pretty kinky."

"Kinky?" Ryan totally wasn't expecting that. "Okay, um." He pulls Sam over to sprawl on the couch with him. "Then tell me the tamest kinky one there is."

Sam grins and leans his head back against the cushion. "Let's see. The tamest?" He has to think for a moment. "That would probably be you on your knees, with your hands tied behind your back, and my cock shoved down your throat..."

Ryan's eyes nearly bug out. "That's a tame one?" he whispers, staring. Images flood his mind in full color, cued by Sam's evocative words, and he inhales a sharp breath. He can't deny the sudden throb of blood in his spent cock.

"Sorry. I thought it was better than the spanking one," Sam says, watching Ryan closely.

 _Jesus_. Ryan blinks, then forces himself to look away from the intensity of Sam's gaze. But he doesn't physically retreat, doesn't try to put any distance between them. "I've, ah." He chews on his bottom lip. "I've never done anything like that. I mean, I've been spanked, obviously. But I think the last time was for putting Krazy Glue in my little brother's hair."

Sam laughs. "Well, not all of my fantasies are kinky," he says. The last thing he wants to do is scare Ryan off. "I'm pretty sure one of them was really damn close to what we just did."

"Yeah, I'll definitely be revisiting this evening when I'm alone," Ryan murmurs, tracing aimless patterns over Sam's bicep. Fuck, he's built. "No offense, but I'm not quite ready to let you tie me up," he says with an apologetic shrug. "I mean, you're really still a complete stranger, and... But what if I just put my hands behind my back and promised not to move them? Would that do it for you?" he asks curiously. "Or just, nothing close?"

"That would definitely do it for me," Sam says, grinning widely.

"Yeah?" Lust pulses through Ryan again, and he drops his gaze to Sam's mouth. "Think you'd be willing to return the favor?" Or maybe Sam doesn't do that at all. Ryan abruptly realizes he has no clue what the boundaries are here.

"I've been known to," Sam says with a smile, shifting to place his arm on the back of the couch, around Ryan's shoulders. "Do all these questions mean you might actually see me again after tonight?"

Open shock shows on Ryan's face; Sam just keeps surprising him. "You want to see me again?" he asks in a whisper. "I mean, like this?" It's been years since he's even tried to sustain anything past a one-night stand with a man.

"Yeah, I'd like to," Sam says, not sure why Ryan seems to find it so hard to believe. "I mean, we both obviously know how to be discreet or we wouldn't have spent the first part of tonight dancing around each other."

Ryan thinks that over, then shrugs. "Yeah," he says softly, starting to drown in Sam's eyes once more. "I mean, of course I want to see you again. I want to molest you in every way I can think of." Although it definitely seems like he can't think of nearly as many ways as Sam can.

"Yeah?" Sam leans still closer and brushes his lips across Ryan's. "I like the sound of that. Want to share your fantasies?"

"They kind of pale in comparison to yours," Ryan says, flushing hot. He licks out at Sam's bottom lip. "You might not find them all that exciting." Slowly he trails his fingers down Sam's chest, then closes his hand around his cock and starts to stroke.

Sam groans and kisses Ryan harder. "I would, because they're _your_ fantasies," he murmurs. "And I'm sorry I mentioned mine being kinky. I don't want you thinking that's all I want."

"What else do you want?" Ryan asks softly. He moves to straddle Sam's thighs, sitting down in his lap. Slowly he grinds against him, gasping at the sparks that shoot through his body.

"You," Sam says bluntly, hands on Ryan's thighs, sliding up over his stomach to his chest, stroking over his nipples. "Like this," grinding back, his cock already starting to ache again.

Ryan moans, sliding his hands restlessly over Sam's shoulders. He shuts his eyes and simply _feels_ , anticipation and lust thrilling through him. "Harder," he asks in a whisper, pushing into Sam's touch.

Grasping Ryan's nipples between his fingers, Sam rolls them gently then a little harder, unsure of Ryan's threshold for any sort of pain.

Damn it. Ryan swallows frustration. " _Harder_ ," he asks again, hiding his hot cheek against Sam's throat. He hates asking for this, but Sam's already touching him, and maybe...

Fuck. Sam drops his hands back to Ryan's thighs and leans in, latching his mouth onto the other man's left nipple and sucking hard, his teeth grazing over the rigid nub before he bites, lightly then harder and still harder again.

Ryan shouts, dropping his head back. "Oh fuck yes," he gasps, his hips moving faster, rubbing his cock against Sam's until he's seconds away from coming. Already, and he knows it's too soon, but... Sam's _mouth_ , damn.

Sam switches nipples again and again, licking and sucking and biting at them until they're red and raw and rigid, his teeth marks standing out, although he knows they'll fade. Between them, his cock's leaking against Ryan's, slicking their movements, his hands on Ryan's ass, cupping his cheeks, keeping him close.

"Oh god. Oh fuck," Ryan moans, digging his fingers into Sam's shoulders. It's so good, so fucking good... He bucks against Sam and comes with a shout, lust overwhelming him in an instant as he shoots messily over Sam's cock, his stomach. Dizzy with pleasure.

Sam releases Ryan's nipple and sits back, watching Ryan, watching the pleasure ripple across his features. "I thought you said you weren't kinky," he murmurs, eyes sparkling.

"What?" Ryan looks down at him, dazed. "I'm not... that wasn't..." He shakes his head, trying to clear it. His face is burning up. "I only..." Three cheers for coherence.

"Like a little pain with your sex?" Sam supplies helpfully, grinning.

Now Ryan is just dumbfounded. "Only my nipples," he whispers, "that's all I..." He stares, blushing even harder. "Most people won't, you know? They don't believe me when I ask them to really bite me. It's fucking embarrassing."

"It shouldn't be," Sam says with a smile, sliding one hand up to the back of Ryan's neck and pulling him in for a kiss. "And I loved doing that to you."

God, that's seductive. It's probably the best thing Sam could say right now. Ryan kisses him back, melting into him. He drops his hand and grazes his knuckles over Sam's cock, feeling it twitch. And he makes a decision which he has a feeling might affect the rest of his life.

Getting up from Sam's lap, he slowly kneels down in front of the man. He takes a deep breath for courage, and then clasps his hands together at the small of his back.

The sight, the gesture, it steals Sam's breath away. Makes his cock throb so violently he's almost dizzy with desire. He nods and pushes to his feet, taking his erection in hand and brushes the wet head across Ryan's lips, painting his mouth.

It's not like Ryan has never knelt down when giving a blowjob before. It's that he's never _thought_ about it before. He knows it means something, even if he's just doing it out of gratitude because Sam did something for him, something he's never gotten from anyone else. He parts his lips and licks the slit, tasting Sam, taking the flavor into himself. Then he closes his mouth around the head and slowly swallows Sam down, taking him in until he nearly chokes.

"Fuck yeah," Sam groans, watching his cock disappear - almost - down Ryan's throat. He cups the other man's head in his hands and rocks his hips, pushing a little deeper. "That's it."

Ryan gags instantly and has to stop himself from reflexively pushing Sam away in mute protest. _Fuck._ Gripping his hands together tighter, he bobs his head, trying to move however Sam guides him. Determined to make it good.

The choking sounds Ryan makes only heighten Sam's arousal but he pulls back a little, his thrusts kept fairly shallow, eyes locked on the other man's face, memorizing every single thing about this to be re-played later. Again and again.

Fuck, keeping his hands to himself is much harder than Ryan thought it would be. He wants to touch, to feel Sam's muscles moving beneath his fingertips. So he locks his hands together tighter, opening his eyes to gaze up at Sam's face.

"You're fucking beautiful," Sam murmurs, pushing a little deeper again, unable to help himself. It feels so fucking good and he wants more.

Ryan moans, grateful that he's already come. Or he'd be clinging to his self-control by his fingertips by now. Sam is so fucking hot, his eyes molten as he stands over Ryan, battering his throat. Ryan coughs but immediately opens back up for more.

"That's it. Good boy," Sam groans, biting his tongue the moment the words are out, hoping Ryan won't notice or care. Christ. "Close," he warns, thrusting a few more times, cock scraping the back of Ryan's throat.

The words pass right over Ryan's head; he's way too caught up in the brutal feel of Sam, the intoxicating flavor, to pay attention to anything else. He gives a muffled whimper, sucking harder.

Cursing under his breath, Sam pushes in deeper, fucking Ryan's throat with one thrust and then another and one more before he comes with a single shout, his nails digging into the other man's scalp as his cock pulses thick and hot, flooding Ryan's mouth.

Gagging hard, Ryan puts out his hands and falls back to the floor, sitting down heavily. He gasps and swallows, swiping the back of his hand across his lips. He knows he's a hot mess, come dribbling from his mouth, and his hair probably standing on end from Sam's fingers. But he can't even focus on all that right now, can just gaze hazily up at Sam, his breathing harsh.

"Here," Sam says, putting a hand out and helping Ryan to his feet and into his arms. "I hope I wasn't too rough," he murmurs, licking a drop of come from the corner of Ryan's mouth.

"Huh? No," Ryan whispers, clinging to Sam. And trying to pretend like he's _not_ clinging. He's still kind of perplexed by the hugging, but it's more than welcome, especially when he feels oddly shaky. "You're fine. You're good," he amends. Better than.

Sam grins, laughing softly. "Good, because that was incredibly fucking hot." And he definitely wants a repeat. Of everything they've done tonight and more.

Easing back, Ryan wipes a last damp spot from his lip. "I'm pretty tired now," he says softly, wondering whether Sam really wants him to stay anymore, or whether now he should be making himself scarce.

"Yeah, me too," Sam says, taking Ryan's hand and pulling him towards the bedroom. "There's lots of extra towels and stuff if you want to wash up or anything." He gives Ryan a grin over his shoulder. "Or you can just crawl in with me and we'll worry about cleaning up in the morning."

"Yeah," Ryan says absently, following where he's led. _Snap out of it,_ he scolds himself. "I'll catch you up in a minute."

"Okay." Sam nods, giving Ryan another wide easy smile as he sits down on the edge of the bed and sets his watch for the morning. The last thing they need is Ryan missing his panel.

At the marble vanity, Ryan quickly washes up. He splashes cold water on his face and then blinks at his reflection in the mirror, staring into his own eyes. "Fuck," he whispers. He feels unaccountably nervous, uneasy. Uncertain. It makes no sense considering he's had two explosive orgasms in the past hour. Chewing on his bottom lip, he shakes his head, then pushes away from the vanity to go dry off.

When he slips back into the bedroom, Sam is already sprawled in the California king bed and looking mostly asleep. For a moment, Ryan battles the urge to run -- and he's not even quite sure why. Stuffing down the impulse, he climbs into the bed, and he realizes he can't recall the last time he actually slept with another man.

"Hey, there you are," Sam murmurs, smiling and throwing an arm over Ryan. Reeling him in against his side and kissing his shoulder. "...feel good," he mumbles, not entirely certain if the words are even coherent but he could care less. It's been a while since he actually wanted to spend the night with someone and he'd forgotten how good it feels.

"Yeah," Ryan whispers, his body tense, muscles strung taut. Slowly, though, he begins to relax, steadied by the sound of Sam's breathing and the secure warmth of his body. "Feels good," he agrees softly, and shuts his eyes.


End file.
